


Oil Slick

by bartistic (hpfangrl)



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Whump, Tim Drake-centric, Whump, no betas we die like robins, will revise when i’ts not 3 AM hahaha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpfangrl/pseuds/bartistic
Summary: tim drake in the sewers with a joker bomb what anxieties will he have“ Tim felt sick to his stomach as the night rolled and tossed around him. He was breathing very hard— possibly, no, probably on the verge of a panic attack. He clenched his fists, which seemed stuck to his sides. Okay, five things you can see—”
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Stephanie Brown
Kudos: 156





	Oil Slick

**Author's Note:**

> as stated in the tags, i wrote this at like 2 AM. it Will be edited asap but for now enjoy my rambling. 
> 
> CW: Panic Attack, blood, injury, self-loathing

Tim felt sick to his stomach as the night rolled and tossed around him. He was breathing very hard— possibly, no, probably on the verge of a panic attack. He clenched his fists, which seemed stuck to his sides. Okay, five things you can see—

He opened his eyes. He couldn’t see anything. Not just pitch black, but darker. True, deep, nothingness black. With his mask on, though, he couldn’t tell whether he was blinded, blindfolded, or simply in a very dark room.

He could vaguely feel his limbs, which could be a good or bad sign. He couldn’t remember whether it ought to be a good or bad sign. With a numb hand he attempted to reach up to his face to check for a blindfold, but doubled over in pain as his arms met ropes instead. The movement stretched a wound he didn’t know he had, slick wet fluid making his clothes tacky.

Or maybe the fluid was something else entirely? Now that he was more tuned in, he noticed the smell. It was hard to believe he hadn’t noticed it before— the invasive and sluggish stench of Gotham’s sewers. He shifted his feet, hearing a soft and wet shlop echo through the wide chambers. He could hear the dripping of the condensation now, and the bustle of the city outside. Was it daytime? Tim couldn’t recall. He couldn’t hear anything out of the usual for the sewers... Killer Croc was still in Arkham, last time he checked, and without him the sewers were a relatively quiet, if definitely toxic, affair.

So the question remained: why was he in the sewers? He couldn’t recall how he got there— wracking his brain, the last memory he could think of was leaving to patrol. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually saw any of his family outside of uniform... He had his own apartment now. Where he could be a slob in peace, and not have to worry about sharing the coffee pot.

Shifting his arms served a dual purpose— it helped him to attempt to shimmy out of his bonds, gasping in pain all the while, and to feel the rope itself. The knot was surprisingly easy to loosen... suspiciously easy, in fact. With his arms free, Tim reached for his face, careful to mind the wound on his side.

He was relieved to find a blindfold tied securely over his mask. It was giving him a bit of a headache, actually, so it was a relief to pull it down. He carefully brushed past a tender bump that was sticky with blood.

Tim blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light— dim light, for sure, but enough to confirm his surroundings. He looked down at his feet. They were padlocked together, with a literal ball and chain attached and sitting in the muck a few feet away. He leaned back against the wall, which was moist (as expected. Ew.), and slid down the grungy bricks into a squat. Taking the lock picks out of his mask, he began to work at picking the padlock. With a finger, he absentmindedly brushed his hair out of the way behind his ear.

His ear, which ought to have a comms unit in it. Why didn’t it?

Breaking free of the lock he lifted a foot to step forward, but was stopped by a cackle. A familiar cackle.

A laugh familiar to any Gothamite, and more than familiar to any Bat.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, little birdie. A ha ha. Hee hee. OOH HOO HOO HOO we— we wouldn’t want to spoil the main event before we even got ready now would we? No, ha, we want to wait for the rest of the little birdies to come along and play before we can BLOW YOU ALL SKY HIGH AH ha HEE HEE,”

Sure enough, as Tim looked beneath the grime under his feet, he could see a pressurized plate. A mine, that would go off if he even shifted his balance too much to the side. There was a countdown on it as well, set to 18 mins and 20 seconds. 19 seconds. 18 seconds.

Tim was suddenly very glad he had only shifted his feet a little bit earlier, and while picking the lock.

“That is... if they even come for you. I don’t see, ha, why they’d care about such a miserable little bird! Look,” the Joker attempted to pout as he came prancing into view, “his poor wings are all soggy. Naughty naughty oil slicks, gooping up the birdies wings so they can’t fly! HAHAHA!” He leaned in close to Tim, using his hands to lift the sides of his cape, drenched in raw sewage, and flapping them. Tim stiffened slightly, preparing to attack, but the Joker stepped back, holding a small remote in his hand. “Ooh, good one boy blunder! You switch places with me, and I’ll press this lil button here! It does just the HA the funniest thing, y’see... it’ll set off a nice little chain reaction that will make the whole sewer go BOOM! HA HA HEE HA!” Joker pranced around, kicking sewage everywhere, splattering onto the walls, onto Tim, even onto his own purple suit. “Now let’s see. How shall we pass the time while we wait for dear old Daddy Bats to realize you’re missing? I think we ought to have a few days or so... HA! I ought to have a few days. You, ha, don’t have that much time, babybird.” Tim wasn’t sure where the clown had heard that nickname, but it made him sick to his stomach. Or maybe that was just the almost certain concussion. “Now how about a game of Go Fish?” Joker pulled a deck of cards out of his suit pocket. He shuffled them haphazardly, most of them falling into the lazy brown river below. They were all Jokers.

Tim’s attention was brought back to the man himself as the clown roughly grasped his hand, forced it open, and placed in it a hand of cards. Then with the same about of force, he shut the hand. Tim let out a stuttered inhale at the pain in his side. “Now, do you know how to play Go Fish?” Tim glared, but didn’t say anything. “So what you’re HA gonna do is, you’re gonna say a card. Like this:” he did a nasally, whiny imitation of Tim’s voice, “Do you have any sevens, Mr. Joker sir? And then *I* get to say NO!” He cackled and shoved Tim’s head all the way into the ground, through the sewage. Hard. Tim sputtered and flailed and desperately tried to keep balance as a spindly yet strong hand held his head in place. It was like a more tortuous version of the swirlies he’d never had to endure, but had heard about on the internet. “Go fish! A HA HA HEE HOO HEH. You’re no fun.” Tim’s head lolled on his neck, feeling too heavy to hold up. “I’m going to go hunt down some more friends for us to play with, alrighty? Have fun while I’m gone! Or don’t. HEE HEE HA HOO HOO!” The Joker kicked tim’s head from where he was kneeling on the ground. Then he left.

Tim’s thoughts were swirling, much like the muck they were surrounded by. It had to be daytime by now, surely Bruce and the others would have noticed he was missing. But would they? Asked another part of his brain. You’re the forgotten Robin, the unimportant one, you’re not even a real part of the family. Dick created the role, Jason died for it, Damian was born for it, what were you? Were you even needed? You just shoved yourself into their lives and everything became all the worse because of it. When’s the last time you’ve spoken to them, any of them? They don’t want to even be near you. They all hate you. They’ve noticed you’re gone alright, but whatever would make them want to come find you?

Tim settled onto the plate. 10 minutes, 57 seconds. He closed his eyes and tried to not think.

He didn’t know how long it was until he heard voices again.

“Hey assholes, I found him! He’s over here! He’s... oh fuck Timmy, that’s a lot of blood. You’re okay. Batman apprehended the bastard. I’ll kill him for you later though, okay babybird?” Tim shuddered at the nickname, letting out what could be called a whimper. “We got you, we’re taking you home.” Home. What was home. The manor? He looked up, head swaying. Red Hood was crouched in front of him, hands out in a placating gesture. He was flickering at the edges. Great, a caffeine-withdrawal-induced hallucination.

“No... y’ can’t...” He mumbled under his breath, his voice scratchy and dry-feeling. “Y’r not real. Y’r not coffee.” Jason— the hallucination— looked concerned. Tim felt a pressure on his head. He yelped. “G’t away... Y’ll set off th’ bomb...” The hallucination-possible-not-a-hallucination-jason cussed. Tim let out a soft huff of laughter. Who knew his imagination was so colorful.

“B, there’s a bomb here. We need immediate extraction and medical for Red Robin, I’ll do what I can to defuse it.”

“Pr’ssure Plate...” Tim murmured before he was under once more. And then there was shouting, and slapping of his face, which made his neck hurt and his face sting.

“No, you are not falling asleep on me! Dammit B, get here now!” Tim had never been the best at following orders. And he was running on no caffeine. He was going to take a nap now, and nobody could stop him.

Flashes.

Strong arms holding him, carrying him through the sewers.

Shouting from someone who sounded a lot like Dick, but that was impossible, because Dick wasn’t there.

Strong arms holding him, loading him into a car, careful of his head.

A squeeze from a small hand. “You are not going to die by the hand of that clown, Drake, I will not allow it.”

Pressure on his stomach, overwhelming pressure and pain and he was jackknifing and fighting whoever was pressing on his wound and there was more screaming but this screaming was him.

Finally, a steady beeping. He opened his eyes, then immediately shut them again. Too bright. He wished he had his Robin shades. He snuffled his nose and heard a noise in return. Someone at his bedside, then. He grunted. There was a gasp.

“Too bright. H’rts.” He watched from behind his eyelids as the flourescent lights were turned off with a click. Then he hazarded opening his eyes again. Bruce was sitting, asleep in a chair by the side of the bed, clearly in a very uncomfortable position. Tim had no doubts he’d had worse. At the door were Dick, Duke, and Stephanie. They looked as if they wanted to talk to him but didn’t want to risk waking a sleeping batman. Damian was at the light switch. Tim was officially confused. Fuck the sleeping Batman, he wanted answers. “J’ker?”

Dick scowled. “Arkham. Although he definitely won’t be out again for a while after Hood’s through with him.”

Cass spoke up from the other side of the room, “Wheelchair.”

Tim nodded. “Bomb?”

“It was a dud.” Tim frowned. That made no sense. Also, they were definitely hiding something.

“How long w’s i out?”

“4 days. You flatlined two times. Between the wound in your side getting infected by fucking sewage water and your memory-hazy brain injury, it’s a miracle you survived.” Steph looked angry. Then she began to cry. “You asshole! You almost died!” She looked as if she wanted to either hug him or punch him, but neither were a feasible option for the moment, so she settled on sniffing angrily at her tears and then purposely walking out. “I’m going to go make coffee. For myself.”

**Author's Note:**

> i’m @bartistic on tumblr. go follow me. and or request something. ily.


End file.
